


The Great Alliance

by virginea



Series: Beyond The Wall and Across The Narrow Sea [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Crack, Dark Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, I don't know if I will read the comments of this lol, Jon Snow is King-Beyond-the-Wall, Random & Short, Smut, ah yeah resurrection bla bla, lazy writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginea/pseuds/virginea
Summary: It's the year 320 A.C.The Dragon Queen lives and her army is about to doom Westeros again. There's only one chance to face this threat: an alliance between the three monarchs that rule over the country: the King of the Six Kingdoms, the Queen in the North and the King Beyond the Wall.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Beyond The Wall and Across The Narrow Sea [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720273
Comments: 82
Kudos: 160





	The Great Alliance

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses for writing this, I just did it, lol. I'm always writing angsty shit and making you cry so here you got something to...enjoy?

**\- The Great Alliance -**

**320 A.C.**

**Tyrion (I)**

**Winterfell**

His balls are freezing as they were the last time he's been in the North all those years ago, mocking Varys for not having them. Also, he was serving as Hand of claimant Queen Daenerys Targaryen, most precisely. Tyrion was a man of faith back then. He believed with all his heart she was going to be different, and in some way, she was. 

He adjusts his fur coat before entering the Great Hall of Queen in the North, Sansa Stark, his former wife. He would have liked to visit her sooner and in other circumstances, but life, ruling, and problems simply never end. The moment he sees her sitting on a throne worthy of a Stark ruler, he regrets not having done so.

Yes, he has read in the reports of his informants that a terrible disease had consumed her. Her image was not that of a woman in her early thirties, but that of a much older and weakened woman. As graceful as always, she walks with the help of a cane.

Tyrion remembers reading somewhere, perhaps even on his first visit to Winterfell, about the terrible punishment of the Old Gods to those who dare to break a sacred oath.

An utter disgrace, he thinks.

Formalities saved; she invites him to come to her Solar. Winterfell is still a gloomy place, and he can't help but remember the last time he walked these halls, trotting behind Daenerys and her complaints. 

"You must excuse us but we don't have Arbor Gold here, my lord," the Queen apologies as one of the servants prepare supper for them.

"Better a mind clear," he replies, avoiding to dive in the problem with the shortage in her Kingdom. Tyrion knows all the kinds of problems secession entails and was pretty much aware of this when she demanded independence from the Seven Kingdoms.

Damn obstinate woman, she was. Tyrion can't help but think if may things have been better if she has been a little bit kinder at that time. He rejects those thoughts. Each and every one of them, dead or alive, failed.

He is about to bite into the first piece of cooked meat when she breaks the silence.

"I have to suppose that the reason behind this visit has to do with the news coming from the East, I'm not mistaken, right?"

Tyrion grimaces.

"I like to think that we still have a good relationship as ex-spouses."

"I liked thinking the same until you blocked the shipment of the Reach to my kingdom."

An administrative error that almost leaves them unreserved for a whole year. It was the last mistake that he tolerated from Bronn as Master of Coin.

"Those reserves had to feed our fragile kingdoms."

"I paid for it," she grunts.

"And every penny returned to you, your grace."

The two sink back into a sepulchral and tense silence as they gobble up their supper. The years have made her more severe than she already was in her younger years. Far away was the innocent and naive girl who only wanted to go home.

"I thought there was more warmth in your heart than cold in your mind, Lord Tyrion,” she says.

The same can he say about her and her deeds. As far as Tyrion is concerned, he has no reason to believe that she acted other than in her own interest, in a very calculating and meticulous way. But who doesn't? Daenerys used to not do it, Jon used to not do it and both of them ended where they ended. 

"It depends on the moment," he simply replies.

Almost like reading his mind, Sansa starts mocking him, "How sad it is Daenerys Targaryen couldn't see that. Her greatest weaknesses were you and Jon and yet she let you live. _That_ was her biggest mistake."

In hindsight, one can claim that this is true. He had plenty of time to think – thank – that she hadn't eliminated him the second he disrespected her in front of her soldiers. Or would Jon have acted anyway?

"You don't have to be that cynical, your grace.”

"I have no reason to be otherwise," she snaps.

Tyrion loosens his grip on his cutlery and sips from the mulled wine cup. He licks his lips and lets out an exhausted sigh.

"Sansa look at me," he asks her, sincerity on his tone, "You knew damn well everything that was going to happen. Littlefinger and my sister pass on you their knowledge and you grew hungry with power." He sips again before smiling, ironically. "You are not innocent in all of this.”

She leans back against the back of her chair and looks at him with solemn eyes.

"Power is power at the of the day," she answers. "We have two alternatives, stand to fight or wait to die."

He scoffs.

"We can stand, fight and wait, and still we all are going to die," he rebuts, "Death is the only winner and the only certainty."

"Not for all of us," she says in the same bitter tone.

It is true. He must have thought better his movements back then.

"We took action as soon as we learned of it.” He still recalls Bran’s lifeless voice telling them she was alive. Just like that. "We sent people to go after her…" he tries to be considerate at the mention of this, "that never came back."

"I know," she agrees, averting her gaze and closing her eyes. "I acted the same way."

"This is not something we can win," he admits, his combative tone decreasing. Sansa’s is not.

"I'll fight still," she opens her eyes and speaks directly staring at his, "My greatest achievement is having never bend the knee to her. I don't care how many miraculous rebirths happen, I will not die bending the knee to a dragon. I am the last Stark of Winterfell and if this place shall fall, I fall with it."

The statement boosts his rage again.

"I could have been so simple. She didn't come with the intention of burning castles and cities to the ground."

"But she did it! It was a matter of time. Oh, but you men how hard is for you to see beyond your own infatuation."

If he would feel like doing it, Tyrion would belie her and affirm that's not entirely true. Yes, he loved her but he also saw the Daenerys that could have been, he saw the kindness and her tender idealism.

Instead, he just let her be.

"Your main problem is you underestimate other's people intelligence and you, yourself isn't that smart.” It is not the way to address a monarch but he is running out of patience. Tiredness and frustration dance in that room as time falls short. “Still, I agree with you. Shall we fall,” he raises his cup, “let us fall with grace. I've come to purpose you an alliance, your grace. A _great_ alliance."

She frowns.

"Among who?"

"Our King in the south, the Queen in the North and," he makes a pause and stares at the window, "The King Beyond the Wall."

Sansa winces between disgust and disbelief.

"He detests us," she says, "He knows the truth and rejected all our approaches to discuss the matter."

"He was too affected, back then." 

"And now?"

He moves uncomfortably in his place.

"One of my best informants has found his Kingdom and contact him. We will meet in Castle Black to discuss this same proposal."

She gasps.

"How do you convince him?"

"The same way I persuaded him to do the right thing the last time. Family."

"Jon does not hold any affection for us, he barely cared Arya died in her hands."

At the time, sending the young Stark, and a trained assassin, was an obvious move. Risky but necessary. It turned out fatal.

"I mean his _new_ family."

When they last met in King's Landing dungeons and Tyrion revealed to Jon Snow what his sentence would be to appease the discontent of his queen's followers, he really thought that the poor bastard was going to respect his new vows, – although he wished wholeheartedly that he didn't – because if he found an ounce of happiness after all the shit that had fallen on him, it would be a miracle.

He did it. He finds the strength to move on and now Tyrion wonders if it was after finding out their acquaintance in common was…alive and doing what she does best in the eastern continent.

"It surprises you?" he asks her after letting her digest the information he has just shared.

"Yes," she admits, her mind absorbed in some rumination. "She will want him dead more than ever," she concludes.

Tyrion nods thought he has mulled over the subject. She has always wanted her House to live again. Beneath the Mother of Dragon, the Breaker of Chain and the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, there was just an abused little girl who knew no real family.

"That's what we told him, and his people."

The implicit mention of the free folk stirs Sansa’s attention.

"How many numbers he can provide?"

"At least eight thousand."

She laughs in disbelief.

"I do not remember that so many wildlings had survived the Great War."

"It's people who abandoned our Kingdoms."

She turns her face with contempt. For herself, for him and for Jon Snow, he supposes.

"And this Kingdom of his, have you seen it?"

"No, this is the more North I've been in years. My informant though, he has seen it."

"And is it truth everything it's rumored?"

Tyrion makes a pause before answering, "Every single detail, according to him."

Ser Podrick Payne was once a mere naive child but now, as a dutiful Ser, he was diligent and mindful. He was the only one who could find that distant kingdom that Jon Snow had conceived together with the free folk and that the songs said was a place, if not idyllic, much better than the ruins in which the Seven Kingdoms stand.

"I always knew he was a good warrior, a charming leader but I didn't see him as a competent ruler," Sansa contemplates, vilifying over her past mistakes. "Do you think he will do it again? Kill her again?"

"I'm mostly positive she will not grant him of the chance so easily as the first time but, many years have passed and she didn't come to avenge her death so far, might she still holds a bland space in her heart for him."

"She was just growing that army of her," she dismisses his romantic suggestions.

"In any case, he's a family man now, with a beautiful wife and children."

"Children?" Sansa asks in bewilderment. "How many?"

"If I tell you, you won't believ–,"

"How many?" she repeats with that thick accent of her.

"Five," he replies, "Three boys and two girls."

She takes the back of her fist to her mouth, mulling over the information.

"And his wife?"

"A wildling woman, perhaps, I don’t know. My man just mentioned she is a very beautiful one.”

Sansa scoffs this time, almost pleased.

“So, he finally did outgrow his infatuation with his aunt. I wonder how she will take this onslaught.”

“We'll soon find out,” Tyrion says, drinking the last of his mulled wine and going for the rest of the flagon.

***

**Castle Black**

It is as if the cold only gets worse. Tyrion did not expect to find Castle Black still functional and manned. The Crown no longer sends criminals there as it is the jurisdiction of the Queen in the North. In fact, the last prisoner to have a life sentence on the wall was Jon Snow.

"My Lord," Ser Podrick greets him as he goes through the great gates of the castle. He still has the face of a child, although his composture remains impassive.

"Lad," he returns the greeting, extending his gloved hand. Tyrion may be the Hand but they are one of those few friends who survived that many adversities, so fuck formality. "Am I on time?"

"King Jon arrived yesterday," he says seriously. In his tone, Tyrion notices the slight warning. On the road from Winterfell to Castle Black, he imagined something like this could happen, having to face the bastard's anger, accumulated by years. If Tyrion is honest, he hates himself more than all his enemies do. 

As he moves forward, eyes glare at him with sharp looks that could cut his neck. Men of the Night's Watch, wildlings, and another group of uniformed men he assumes are deserters from the Northern Army. He is surprised by the presence of women, just as grim as their male counterparts. The damn castle belongs to Jon Snow, Tyrion realizes. The men he brought as escorts and Podrick would be insufficient to defend themselves against an attack, especially since their wild nature is not guided by the same war codes as the honorable warriors of the Seven Kingdoms.

He is ushered into a crowded hall with tables in rows, which if he remembers correctly, is where the sworn brothers met to eat or contend. He thought Winterfell was a place of sorrows but this place is outright a tomb. At the opposite end to the entrance, there is an large table similar to the one in the great hall of said castle. In the center are three men, two of them Tyrion immediately recognizes.

On the right side, the giant's bane with red hair and a thick beard who boasted of having suckled the breast of a giant woman, sits with irreverent attitude while consuming some exotic concoction from his horn. It is obvious that the years have not changed him.

On the left side, is the man that Tyrion does not recognize, with the same build as the giant killer but with dark hair and eyes. He sits serious and doesn't smile at whatever they are talking about but instead looks at the intruders with displeasure.

And in the center, himself, the King Beyond the Wall, Jon Snow.

The gates behind him close.

The bastard, which is no bastard, set his darkened stare on him and Tyrion sees only the features of his face. He is not the man broken by the guilt he saw the last time, quite possibly because that guilt has vanished by the time he discovered that his feat had been truncated.

Only then does Tyrion hears the growl coming from one side, where the white direwolf makes his entrance as a stark contrast against the dark of the room. He is missing an ear but looks equally fierce, ready to obey any order that is demanded of him.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister," Jon speaks for the first time and amazes him he is so clear, letting the sound rumble the four walls. "Fifteen years ago I asked you a question. More than ten years later, it's enough to manage an answer, don't you think?"

Tyrion begins to realize that it was a terrible, stupid idea to come this far, confident in finding a bastard invested as King and not whatever this man was.

The last time he felt this way, he was in Dragonstone's throne room, imploring Daenerys to prove to him that Varys was not right.

Tyrion straightens up, not out of courage but out of resignation. He has turned that question too many times to have a single conclusion, so he provides the simplest response his mind can come up with at the moment.

"It put us where we are, so yes. It was the right thing to do."

He swallows the lump in his throat and allows himself to breathe. He doesn't expect a round of applause so is taken aback when Jon Snow smiles and starts laughing - has he heard him laugh before? - before his company follows his lead and soon only shrill laughter sounds in that grave he's trapped in. The men escorting him look at Tyrion for a sign so he just nods and starts laughing with them.

**Jon (I)**

The imp laughs but the amusement is absent in his eyes, only making Jon laugh more, knowing something they still don't know. Anticipation drives his adrenaline and he can smell, through Ghost, fear in the environment. 

Once the laughter dies, Jon returns to his serious expression. So does Tyrion.

"So, King Beyond the Wall, uh?" he asks, eyeing with apprehension at the men surrounding them.

"I guess that's how I'm called within the Wall," Jon replies.

Tyrion scoffs.

"People call you many things," he says, "A hero, for example. A savior, sometimes."

His hands that rest on the table become fists. Tormund and Jarl also obscure their gaze on the dwarf. 

"And I am neither of these things," Jon assures. 

Tyrion slightly approaches with his head tilting in an akin fashion he did back then in a dark room where they decided the fate of the world. 

"We both know...you are always on the right side of history."

"Am I?" Jon questions, squinting at him, "Queenslayer, Kinslayer, and Oathbreaker," he let out a burst of cynical laughter, and Tormund downs his gaze at his side. "And I didn't even do that well, because my dear aunt is back. So, haven't you asked yourself if it wasn't us who were on the wrong side?"

"There was no other choice. We make mistakes but hers were lethal," he surmises. 

Jon leans back on his chair. 

"Everywhere she goes evil men die and we cheered her for it. I had plenty of time to muse over those words. Essos loves his Dragon Queen, she gives freedom to the slave and punishment to the slavers."

"She was certain she was good because people were bad. But what happens when there are no bad men to kill anymore?" The tone of his voice goes lower. "Children! She massacred children in their mothers' arms!" He shakes his head like removing himself from those memories. Jon bites the inner skin of his mouth. "Congratulations, by the way," he says after rubbing his forehead, in a more jovial tone.

Jon soaks in a deep breath at the imprudent implication of his words. 

"Several years have passed since she returned, and I am here."

"She is a silent planner," Tyrion insists, "She has an army and the support of these greatest names who are waiting to dig its claws on our country. She..." he makes a pause, trying to be careful, "...killed Arya. What do you think she would do when she first set foot in our land? Sansa, Bran, _your children. Your wife_ ," he emphasizes, "She will kill your children in their mother's arms!"

His men stir at the mention of Jon's family in such a threatening way, making Tyrion recoil to his meek position. 

Jon sighs.

"I forewarned you and the rest of the land within the Wall to mind your business far away from my land, and you mocked my wishes.”

"They are your family, too," Tyrion insists. He grimaces. "And what a family, indeed, The Queen in the North, the King of the Six Kingdoms and another Queen Across the Narrow Sea."

"Why now and not before?"

"We couldn't find you." 

"I mean, what happened that stirred your concern. It must have been something...big. Something that makes you send your-,” he looks beyond him to the man that was caught in his land and that could provoke a true mess hadn’t the man of the Watch found him in time. “…right-hand man to my lands."

Tyrion doubts before yielding and answering, "She is getting married to a man with whom she will form an army that doubles the size of her first one. Have you heard of Thyssen Freya?"

Of course, he did.

"A prolific merchant, I heard," Jon replies, before clearing his throat, uncomfortable. "Dany never was the kind of marrying for an alliance. Otherwise, we would've been married and today the story could've been other.”

"I thought she was not the kind that burns down a city to its very foundation, but she did that. We believed the many things she was not in the end."

"Because we both were in love with her, right?"

He hopes the imp had noticed the hint of hatred in his voice. His darkened stare tells Jon, indeed, he did. 

"If she comes, you know what will happen," he warns, again.

"I know what will happen the day she comes," Jon assures, perfectly aware of the threat. "What do you propose then?"

This last question seems to ease the tension in the air and the Lannister proceeds to detail the reason for his journey.

"As we unite once against the enemy of ice we shall stand against the enemy of fire. What I propose you is...an alliance. A Great Alliance."

Jon laughs at his innocence.

"It seems to me we stand no chance of what you told me about Thyssen Freya is truth."

"You know better than anyone that it's best to do something before nothing." 

"We could surrender ourselves to her,” Jon rebuts, “Sansa, Bran, you and I. With us gone, Westeros would be safe."

Tyrion swallows, he had been caught up in his own logic. Time has not improved his lost intelligence.

“That doesn’t guarantee the safety of your children,” he replies with a bitter tone. “You are everything she has lost. Her claim, her love, her possibility of a family, everything. I know it hurts you, but she’s not the woman you loved once, she is…she is a monster looming over our heads and we need to stop her, if not for us at least for…the future. Is it not why you did it the first time? For the future?”

His jaw hurts from clenching it so hard in what Tyrion Lannister finishes his little speech. What Jon least needs is a reminder of why he had struggled all those years to prepare himself for this moment.

“We will not win against my aunt, but a part of me tells me I can face her and convince her.”

Tyrion shakes his head, disagreeing.

“Convince her of what?”

Jon stands up and his companion follows him.

“That she has another option.”

"I wish you good fortune in that case but in the meantime, I beg you to stay safe and protect your family. All of them."

Jon smiles but there's no sympathy in his expression.

"Oh, I will." 

***

"Little Crow, are you sure about this?" Tormund asks him for what it should be the third time during the journey back to Wolves Den. 

Jon looks at him askance, the determination outlined there.

"Has she let me another choice?" he wonders, "Has anyone let me another choice?"

"They are your family."

"My family is here."

They are interrupted by a cracking. The three men look at each other, knowing that it's none of them. 

"Oh, you think he is that bold?" Tormund questions, while Jarl is already retracing his steps until he climbs into the thick of the forest and pushes out of its hidden place to a weary Ser Podrick Payne.

He was following them.

Again.

Jon's blood boils.

"I'm fuckin' tired of ya' southron arses," Jarl spat in his direction, ready to step over the man with his horse.

"Jarl," Jon warns. The man respects his wishes and returns to stand on one of his sides. "Why did you come here, Ser Podrick?"

Jon would recognize at least he is no longer shaking as the first time he had been caught trying to penetrate the fortifications that separate Wolves Den from the rest of the world.

He is taking advantage of his mercy, Jon realizes. Another's fool mistake he shall amend.

"Lord Tyrion needs to be sure," he explains, on his knees and man slightly positioned on the pommel of his sword.

Jon's eyebrow rises.

"Sure of what?"

"Of everything, your grace."

Jon climbs down from his saddle and shakes his head, incredulous but not surprised at Tyrion Lannister's ways. There are people who would always be the same.

When his hand wanted to travel to his belt, ready to give him a chance to run for his life alongside a shallow wound at some strategic point on his left side, Tormund's voice alerts him to another intruder there.

"Crow." 

Jon turns around and swallows hard at the haunted sight of the silver-haired girl behind them, crouched in the snow and behind a rock that doesn't quite cover her small form.

 _You're not supposed to be here, child_.

During Ser Podrick's stay, he had made sure to keep each of his children out of sight of the man. All his family indeed. But especially her.

Jon closes his eyes, savoring the essence of the air until he finds a trace of fear.

Not long after, on both sides of the road, in the shadow of the nightfall, several eyes shine within the shadows. Ghost in the lead of his own kin.

This time Ser Podrick does tremble.

Once the image might have horrified him, but over the years he had discovered that it was quite entertaining to see wolves in their natural state. It wasn't until a particularly thick stream of blood spilled onto his face that Jon turned to face his daughter's big eyes watching the same scene with awe.

***

"Where is Val?" Jon asks as little Lya snuggles into his shoulder and smirks at him, in silent complicity. 

"I thought I saw her training with the spearwives," Munda, Tormund's daughter, replies, coming to take the child from his arms.

He decides to leave his anger for later. 

People south of the Wall called him King of the lands beyond the wall, but in reality, between Tormund and Jarl, the difference in their ranks is not substantial. The free folk choose a leader when the time requires and it happened that he was there when that time came.

As he saunters the marketplace road towards his quarters, hoping to find her there, Jon nods and greets people in the way, who looks curiously at the bloodstains covering the front of his attire and his own face.

Indeed, he finds her in their room. All the children gone, Gods know to do what mischievous activities.

She is standing in front of the mirror, easy-going and indifferent to his return. She is wearing that ivory-colored gown she's spent days working on. Jon didn't pay enough attention until now that it is almost finished, with the material lifted and tightened in all the right places of her body.

"Do you like what you see?" she teases, the needle on her mouth while she cuts off the thread that hangs from the delicate sleeve. 

She looks a vision, and that only makes him go madder.

"I want to do more than just seeing," he says, unclasping his belt and throwing it with his weapon and coat to one corner.

"How was the meeting?" she ignores his lewd insinuation, "I can smell the blood from here."

Jon nods and chuckles a bit. _Of all the people,_ he thinks.

He sits on the bench at the feet on their bed. The bed she would call only his. 

"We had to say goodbye to Ser Podrick Payne," he tells her. "Your daughter appeared, and he saw her."

With this information, she turns frowning and making the same assumption as him before. _She wasn't supposed to be there_.

"I didn't know he was to return," she says, instead. "He seemed a nice man."

"Who knew too much," Jon adds, traveling with his eyes to the enhanced shape of her arse. Yeah, there is no possibility he will let her go away with this. "Tyrion sent him back to make sure what we told him was true. I think he has his suspicions."

She abandons her needlework, walking towards him with a scowl. Every time he watches her, he tries to drink as much of her image as possible before they are apart again. And gods, if not every time like the first time he laid eyes on her.

"I hope you had sent her away before it had happened."

"She is daughter of yours." 

"Yes, but it was your sword that killed the man."

He scoffs.

"It was not my sword," he corrects, standing to walk in her direction, unfastening the laces of his stained gambeson. "The pack needed to feast," he whispers in her ear, to which she replies with a smirk that reminds him of their youngest daughter. "Each beast needs to feast with human flesh, eventually," he continues, tempting her by nipping at her earlobe.

She fucking giggles, pushing him and turning around. 

"I thought you plunged a dagger on a dragon queen exactly because of that reason."

His expression becomes acrimonious with the bringing of the subject they would never leave behind. Jon musters the strength to look at her cold eyes through the mirror before going to collect the knife she herself made out of a peeled bone so long ago and walking back to his position.

She comes over him and lifts her hand to place her on his, both touching the object. He can feel the warm air of her breath.

"You should do the same to me," he tells her.

Silence looms over them. When both of them raise their eyes to meet the other, he can fight no more the need for her. The need to protect her.

When she attempts to take the knife out of his grip, Jon dodges and grabs her from her lower back. He then holds her face in place, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers. "I won't let any of them get to you," he blinks and there's darkness, pure rage on his gray eyes. " _None_ of them."

His mouth captures her swollen lips and, as usual, she first flinches and tries to wriggle out of it, only making him grow even more rapt and infatuated with her.

The struggle. The tug of war that has them tied by a rope that none of them wants to let go of. Even when she gives him a reason to force a surrender, Jon responds with the same fierce. Each time.

He throws the knife away and this falls forgotten with a thud. He parts from her lips and observes how she gasps and challenges him with her ignited eyes to go on. 

With a sudden movement, he hurls her at the bed and she lands on her arms and knees. He follows her and does not hesitate in pushing her further up, gripping at the fabric of the gown and her small clothes beneath to rolling it all upward, revealing her naked cunt.

Without warning, he bent over to taste her with a long, slow lick at her outer folds. She whimpers and he grins before approaching her ear and whispering, "Is this what you were looking for? acting under my nose so I would remember it when it's all said and done, making me feel like a fool?

She does not answer, instead, she pushes back against him, cursing beneath her breath because of the same sentiment. The need for him, as he needs her.

Without loosening the grip on her hip to keep her still, he takes his already aroused cock out of his trousers to point it to her throbbing core, sliding it along her slick slot, knowing perfectly how to make her go insane as he is. She lets out a loud groan between gasping breaths, finally giving in to her weight and falling to her elbows. He thrusts into her as soon as he sees her doing this, ignoring whether he or she has won. Then, he fucks her. Merciless and rough, taking in the rage, the excitement, the blood lust, and the intoxicating love within him.

Soon he feels her clenching around him and whispering curses and incomplete sentences while drooling over her smashed hair. The idea of someone else seeing her this way seeps into his mind, injecting adrenaline all over his body, shoving inside her with more rawness and despair.

When she's sated and her body wobbles under him, Jon pulls back and turns her onto her back, stroking himself and draining his release on the front of her gown, all over the delicate embroidery. He falls beside her, on his back too. Chest heaving up and down. 

He shouldn't have done such an animalistic thing but she shouldn't have done what she did first. Why does he feel defeated then?

She turns on her side to face him.

"The time is coming," she says.

Jon hides the displeasure with indifference.

"I know, Dany."

He shuts his eyes. 

"And you've ruined my wedding gown," he hears her complain about. "Now, tell me why my daughter was wandering around the forest instead of attending her lessons with Val and the spearwives?"

"When you tell me why my bloody wife is about to marry another fucking King."

**Daenerys (I)**

**Essos**

King Freya laughs uncontrollably at the joke of one of the merchants who have invited at their wedding, as Daenerys smiles falsely to accompany his drunken husband in his celebratory mood, even though she is regurgitating inside. 

The man is not too hard to compelling, and his sense of humor too easy to fascinate. That was how she approached him and with a single glance, convinced him that they had to join forces to invade Westeros.

"The lords of Westeros need to learn what true authority is," he had told her when he explained the reasons why he intended to preside over the conquest mission. "It is time to end those bastards, they ruined the blessings of those lands with so much useless warfare. You among them, my beautiful queen."

He and others, some anonymous ones, had decided the future of the western continent by the time they seated such a weak king in the crown of the six kingdoms, and a negligent queen in the north. The strongest dog eats the weak. 

Yet she would have preferred never return.

"I think it's time for our love to be consummated," she whispered to him, a hand squeezing his tight to remark her insinuation. It made her feel disgusted. 

He makes another testeless joke before standing and grabbing her face for a wet, wine savored kiss. 

She suppresses the urge to throw up.

In his royal chamber, he takes her again with force, obviously not in the way a man would desperately try to find his way with her out of passion but with ordinary lust. She can't be less aroused by the blond haired man. She follows his lead, though, allowing him to tear her recently bought gown at which she reacts by rolling her eyes and sighing, making him believe is him prompting them. 

When he attempts to liberate his member, Daenerys decides it's time.

She pushes him on his back and starts rubbing against him, trying to convince him she is fully committed in the act. When he lifts up to kiss her again, she takes her knife from the hidden place beneath the sleeve of her gown and rapidly cut his throat.

"Don't worry, my love," she tells him while he bleeds out, eyes injected with a different type of urgency. "Your wish to make Westeros see a true authority will come truth."

And with this she leaves the master chambers and proceeds to march to the Great Hall, her bridal grown covered in blood as her true soldiers surrounded her.

 _The storm is coming_ , she thinks. _The storm is coming and I will take what's mine with fire and blood_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of this is creating a false plot paralleled with the real plot (I just came up with this I don't know if it actually exists as narrative tool) but here it is, the great alliance is not the one between the three westerosi monarchs but the one between Jon and Dany (hence the title).
> 
> I was a fucking liar when I said I was not going to write any more jonerys fic the truth is...I can't stop? Writing was always I did out of funny just like drawing or singing so I never thought it would actually be a good satisfying thing to share it with someone else and is actually what you write to me in the comments what encourages me and the idea I can make you experiment feelings with my writing is just...overwhelming in a good sense. So thank you and I am serious when I say I write this in a way to compensate for the angsty in my other stories that made you cry D:

**Author's Note:**

> I was a fucking liar when I said I was not going to write any more jonerys fic the truth is...I can't stop? Writing was always something I did out of fun just like drawing or singing so I never thought it would actually be a good satisfying thing to share with someone else and is actually what you write to me in the comments what encourages me and the idea I can make you experiment feelings with my writing is just...overwhelming in a good sense. So thank you and I am serious when I say I write this in a way to compensate for the angsty shit in my other stories that made you cry D:
> 
> P.S: Of course I am in a fucking block and I cannot end my other story.


End file.
